Champion
by Avada Cruimperio
Summary: Perhaps it wasn't the insane genes or the childhood in an orphanage that turned Tom Riddle to evil... Oneshot.


Triwizard Tournament

_"Never thought I'd live ter see the Triwizard Tournament played again!"_

Hagrid, p. 264, GOF

Tom Riddle smoothed back his hair, briefly glancing lovingly at his pallid reflection in the mirror. This was it. This was the day he had been waiting for. After years of scheming and dreaming, the opportunity for eternal fame and glory had been handed to him on a silver platter.

Or, rather, was going to be handed to him on a silver platter. Future tense. For it hadn't _quite_ happened yet, but that wouldn't matter soon enough.

He turned away from the mirror and pulled his wand and some notecards out of the breast pocket of his robes. Clearing his throat, he again began to read the words out loud, those words that soon enough, the entire Great Hall would hear, applauding and cheering madly as he spoke them.

He stifled a giant grin. How wonderful it was going to be!

Although… he wouldn't lie, he was the tiniest bit nervous. But, he assured himself, who wouldn't be? Of course he was _prepared,_ of course he was up to it, but still… maybe he _should_ rehearse his speech one more time, after all.

"Fellow students of Hogwarts, great visitors from-"

"Oi, Tom!" someone hollered up the stairs, his voice carrying up from the Slytherin common room. "Aren't you ready yet? The bloody feast is starting in ten minutes!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Tom yelled back, hastily stuffing his notecards back in his pocket. "Have you no patience at all, Mulciber?"

There was no response, but Tom was quite sure Mulciber was rolling his eyes at him.

He took one last look in the mirror, brushed the smallest hint of lint off of his chest, and hurried down the silver spiral staircase, taking them two at a time. He stopped abruptly at the last turn and composed himself. It wouldn't do for a _champion_ to be seen as animated as a little first-year Hufflepuff, would it? No. And especially not in front of the boys. Even though he knew perfectly well they wouldn't dare tease him in front of his face, behind his back was a different story… but never mind that now. After dinner, they would be begging him to let them follow him around. He smirked at the mere thought of it.

_"Tom, oh, Tom, can I carry your books to Transfiguration?"_ Dolohov would ask, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

_"No, no, you can't, because Tom's walking _me_ to Charms," _pretty Amber Greengrass would say, shoving Dolohov out of the way.

_"Tom! Tom! Are we still playing Quidditch tonight?_" Nott would inquire.

_"Tom! Special Slug Club party tonight, m'boy. My office. As ususual!"_ Slughorn would jovially chuckle.

_"No, no, I'm sorry,_" he would reply to all of them, "I've got to train for the First Task…"

"What?" asked Rosier, sniggering.

Tom looked up and turned bright red. All of his fellow Slytherin fifth-years were staring at him.

"Oh," muttered Tom. "I didn't… I was… thinking out loud."

They all gave him a wary look as the five of them turned the corner into the Great Hall, making their way towards the Slytherin table. Tom noticed that for the second night in a row, the Beauxbatons students were seated at the Ravenclaw table and the Durmstrang students were again with the Gryffindors. He shot them all a nasty look—if the Durmstrang kids were moronic enough to associate with filthy Mudbloods and their ilk at Gryffindor, they surely wouldn't be too difficult to beat in the Tournament.

He glanced at the head table, where he caught Slughorn's eye. The porky old man winked at him, and he knew that at least _someone_ (he glared surreptitiously at his friends) had confidence in him. Slughorn knew that Tom had entered his name in the Goblet of Fire, something that Tom had not yet disclosed to his classmates. More of a wonderful surprise for them when my name is announced, he had reckoned, and resolved to let them find out on their own.

Although Slughorn often repulsed him, (and really, who wouldn't be repulsed by him if they had watched Slughorn eat?) he was quite a good contact to have. Mind you, Tom was sure Slughorn was too… too _good,_ he supposed, to fiddle around with the Goblet, but it certainly couldn't have hurt his chances. Besides, Tom was sure he didn't even need that added bonus with that—his own clever mind and extraordinary skills would clearly give him the edge over the competition.

He broke eye contact with Slughorn and caught sight of Dumbledore. He inadvertently scowled. He had been extremely relieved last night to hear it was not an actual _person_ choosing the champion, for Dumbledore undoubtedly could have persuaded whoever it would be not to choose Tom. Meddling fool… what did _he_ know about greatness? Or power? Nothing, Tom assured himself, and one day, they'd all be rid of the officious old bat (no doubt, by Tom's own wand).

But now there were more important things to focus on. Dippet had already welcomed their foreign guests, told them that after dinner, champions would be picked (as if anyone needed reminding) , and had let them begin their feast.

Tom barely noticed what he was putting in his mouth; his thoughts again were far elsewhere. _Champion… champion_…. The word seemed to ring in his mind, much more than a title—an identity. His very future all rested on tonight. It wasn't even the prize money—although he could hardly complain about fifteen sacks of Galleons. Some brand new robes for once…

He looked around at the other students in the Great Hall. The younger ones looked much happier than the older ones, many of which wore expressions of anxiety mingled with anticipation. There hadn't been an age restriction, but Tom knew that Dumbledore had told them all in Transfiguration yesterday that younger students were strongly advised not to enter. Tom had snorted derisively at the fact that Dumbledore considered the fifth-years as "younger". True, most of his classmates were terribly inept… well, inept compared to _him_. He was sure that he could take on any challenges the Tournament would present, far better than even the wittiest seventh-year.

"Ahem!" Dippet said, getting to his feet, and the room went silent at once. Tom felt a whooshing feeling in his stomach and had to hold onto the table for support. He knew what was coming.

"As I'm sure you all are aware, it's time for us to reveal to you our new Triwizard Champions. So, without further ado…"

The Goblet was unveiled, looking more beautiful and majestic than ever—not in the least, Tom was sure, because it was about a minute away from spitting out his name.

The Goblet flashed red, emitting dazzling sparks and a small piece of parchment shot out of it. Dippet had to stand on his tiptoes to reach it.

"The champion from Beauxbatons," he said, clearing his throat, "is Alexandre Dubois!"

The French students clapped politely for their fellow student, most looking crestfallen. A few silly girls were evidently fighting back tears. How annoying, Tom thought. How _weak_. Clearly, they were not worthy of championship.

Dubois headed up the aisle into a room behind the head table, grinning and flashing a thumbs-up to several of his friends.

Dippet clapped a couple of times to get everyone's attention. "Alright, alright," he said. "Now then-"

For the Goblet had again turned bright red, and another piece of parchment had whizzed out from it.

"The champion from Durmstrang," he read, "will be Ivana Kozlov!"

A large, ruddy girl with heavy eyebrows and a giant nose emerged from the Gryffindor table and clomped ungracefully up to the doorway of where Dubois had disappeared into.

Tom didn't even pay attention this time to the Durmstrang reaction. He felt like he was going to throw up—but at the same time, he stayed focused, concentrated. He suddenly wondered why the last two champions hadn't given _their_ speeches? Nonetheless, he found himself murmuring his under his breath in preparation.

And at last, at long last, the Goblet turned red for the final time, sparks flew out once more, and the name of the Hogwarts champion (surely Tom Riddle) came zooming out.

Tom breathed in deeply through his nose.

_Fellow students of Hogwarts, great visitors from abroad, thank you…_

Dippet caught the parchment.

_Eternal fame…_

He opened it.

_Eternal glory_.

"The champion from Hogwarts will be…"

_Champion_.

Tom rose to his feet.

"Minerva McGonagall."


End file.
